Further Adventures of the Opera Ghost
by PeanutButterCracker
Summary: Right O! So these are the occurences after the Opera Populaire has been burned to a crisp. Erik is living, true, his resurrection not the happiest. But that is stated in chapter one... A mere beginning to what terror he wishes to play out once more.


Rating: M

Some concepts such as necromancy, politics, witch craft, and mild forms of necrophillia go beyond that of a teen-ager, and go to a more mature type of audience. Mild language, detailed death, and soft romance can be found throughout.

_Disclaimer: Nope. Not mine._

There. Now that we've got that pest out of the way… We can move onto the story. Hmmm, it is weird, I'll give you that much.

Some background information… I go by **Leroux's** book and his book only. Kay is a stupid jerk-face with no originality and amazing writing skills. That, my dears, is what FanFictions are for. Gander that. Seeing as you now know that, I can tell you Erik's story did **NOT** take place when he was 40-some thing. He does not have a cat. He does not do drugs.

Erik is just insane.

In my mind, Christine was about 17 and Erik was about 23. Good, non? PAH! And do not assume by making him half the 'ferking' age Kay claimed him to be that I am some Gerard obsessed fan. --HEE-- This story, I do pray, retains some bit of originality.

* * *

Chapter One

Concerning Resurrections

* * *

"So, you want to hear my life story?" A man crippled with much age sat across a desk, dressed in black suit, for he was a gentleman. Former glory wishing to be held high. Not some laid-back, smooth talking youth from the 1980's. Oh no! He was born long before that. Why, I should like to say he couldn't be any younger than 120. So old… Posture wishing to prove such a point.

"Oh yes!" The boy chimed enthusiastically, a tape recorder residing on the desk between the two. His hands, shaking, almost eager to begin with the tale, and listen to this self-proclaimed "Opera Ghost" as he went on and on. From what the boy already heard, if a biography did not ensue, then surely a great story of fiction would.

"Tell me," He began as the first tape was popped in, reels rolling with the **record **button being mashed down, "How old would you say you are? Quite aged? No offense Mister." Blasphemy! The way this suave talking New Yorker chose to converse with the infamous "Phantom", as if he were a nut with Alzheimer's.

The gloved hand extended, stretching those boney fingers. They cracked and popped, adding dramatically to the effect which he so longed for.

"If you would like to let _me_ tell the story, I would be very happy to do so. Just to please you, you smug vermin, I will tell you. Believe me if you wish, I really do not care, as you hear my true age." A pause for drama, "I am 124." That French accent clung so heavily, it was obvious the man had mild trouble searching for words. Upon hearing this, the boy's jaw dropped smally, and it was almost irritating how blatantly his amusement to such an answer showed.

"Really?" His head quirked in curiosity, urging the 'daft' man to go on.

"…Really. I do believe that is why I said it."

"Oh, but Mister! 124? Very rarely does any one live so long." It's not like this old man didn't look the age; what with the chest wracking coughs and hunched posture.

"Well, I do believe I did." He just frowned at the repetitive ignorance. Yet, frown was not seen… Due to the fact his face was hidden behind a porcelain white mask.

"What about your attire? Your mask? What do you hide?"

"So impatient." Another horrid cough, as the cloak he wore was drawn closer to him, "As I said, I will get to all of that… In time." Now breathing in intervals.

"Are you sure you can do this?" The boy asked, now thinking of the man's physical being.

"Of course I can. I _want_ to do this. It will feel nice… To get the story out there." Motioning his hands to the window in exaggeration, all the while expressing mild irritation at the boy's odd interruptions, "Well, at least the other half."

"Other half?"

"I do advise you remember to flip the tap every now and then. I do not want my breath to go to waste. And… And do make sure you have enough. To get to the climax and not be able to capture it into immortality would be… Horrid."

"Oh!" The boy was still thinking this old man a bit loony. I mean, really? I wouldn't believe it either if some ancient man asked me to meet him in a hotel room where he should like to be interviewed, claiming to be the Opera Ghost from Leroux's book! And, that is what he chose to speak of next, this old man that creaked like a house.

"I am sure you know all that the man Leroux stated, correct?" He asked, tapping gloved fingers on the table between them, choosing to answer the boy's interrupted question.

"Yes… I have read the story."

"What a funny man. Back in those days, people were more willing to believe in ghosts and goblins. I had gotten him to write down my tragedy, and I thought that was to be the end of my misery!"

"What do you mean?" The boy asked, leaning casually back in his chair, "Are you telling me there is more after Christine? That isn't possible." It was at this point he drew out a copy of Le Fantôme de l'Opera, "Look. Look at the last line. And I quote, 'Erik is Dead.' Care to explain that?"

"I most certainly do. See, when I had finished telling my story to the man, he was so shaken! There are many reasons why. For one, I had to show him my face just to get the real terror into the story. And then, secondly, what spooked him more was when I told him he should be the last person to hear such confessions. Well, him and our father above." He now took a moment and spat upon his last comment.

"So, I told him I should be dead. I told him my whole plan! That I was to go to the Opera Populaire, crawl back into my coffin, and wait patiently for the Grim Reaper to come and carry me off to Hell."

"Hold on one second!" Said the boy, grabbing for his hat in disbelief, "You mean to tell me you thought it was Hell you should go?" Surely people never like to think such things of themselves.

"Yes." That was the crippled man's blunt reply, "Now… if there are no more interruptions, I might just continue to tell you the story."

"And so, that is exactly what I did. Those powder kegs below the torture chamber were set alight. Madness was clearly running through my mind. A mix of sweat, blood, and tears coated me as I set out to work. A torch carelessly tossed as I made my way back to my coffin where I could sleep for eternity. No longer having to deal with the horror and cruelty of real life.

"Pity things do not always work out the way we want them to. Before the flames even began to lick the sides of that wooden crate meant for the decayed, smoke filled my lungs and I thought I was slipping. I shouted the Father's name, cried for the peace he was finally going to show me when blackness consumed me, taking my mind with it; no daffodils or monsters dared to creep into my slumber. Death at its finest.

"I fear that I did wake up. This man who carried death on his face awoke! A lavender room with a vanilla scent and crème coloured sheets of silk greeted me. Needless to say, I was very confused. Was this heaven? It couldn't possibly be… No. Of course not, I always figured I was doomed to eternal damnation. I mean, you cannot expect to take the lives of others, no matter what the past is, and think you get into the pearly gates." It was here the old man gave a small laugh, chortling in amusement before carrying on, although, the boy seemed to think it more a cackle, "In fact, some thought I was Satan himself. It would make more sense for me to over throw the Prince of Darkness than to get into heaven, non?

"And the blasted wench walked in. A cool rag pressed to my chest, soaking through the fine shirt; Christine dared to touch me. Not only that, but her betrothed! Both of them, smug little smiles on their faces. It was then that I truly thought I was in Hell. I mean, their rings… Glittering so perfectly in that wretched moonlight. Candles were not lit. Raoul did go for one, I must admit, but I said some nasty things about him and how I should like him to be hanged with his very intestines if he were to dare strike a match. Christine… How I was frowned upon for that one!

"My head ached. Why did she do this? It was obvious now where I was. Her new house with the Victome de Chagny. And, it was obvious why I was here. I mean, surely the two felt pity for me and my 'permanent solution to a temporary problem'. They thought me mad from the mere fact that I wished to die. The two… How lovely they were together. Their innocence; thinking that no matter how tough it got, any life was better then death.

"'Erik.' She began with those tears. She knew… She knew my heart would shatter. It would shatter to think I had done such things. To think it was I who caused her sadness. Not once did I even think she did it for herself. Not once did I think it was a child's cry for attention. Pah." Waving his hand to show disgust, the man scoffed. He was venting, this ancient corpse, and the boy merely sat there with his chin placed daintily in his hands, waiting for him to go on. A small pause before the tale continued.

"'Erik', Christine repeated my name once more, 'We, Raoul and I, we thought, not now, we thought that you would thank us for what we did. Erik! Surely there is some thing better for you. You… You do not know how I love you. You do not know how I hate you! I wish… I wish your happiness, Erik. But not with me… I want you to be happy. I don't want your life to end, not like this. I believe in good endings! When I was young… I never thought I would be happy. But… But look at me now! I have found my love… We have endured much. Erik," How persistently she chose to use my name! "I believe in a happy ending for you." Her words, I will admit, were mixed. How they ripped my heart to shreds. YET SHE DID NOT NOTICE.

"I did listen… Then spat after. She chose to sob into his chest. 'Erik!' Crying my name once more, 'Why do you loathe me so? Why do you not understand?' How I wished I had another to complain to. Her, my _angel,_ sobbing to another. I can honestly say it made me sick.

"'So,' Beginning rather smugly as I peered at her, and him, from behind the porcelain mask, 'You came to the lair and rescued me from the fire? You thought… If I were to live another day, find another significant other, I would be a better man?'

"'You do not know what sins we have committed to save you!' And she continued to sob. For a moment, being very spiteful, it was true, I did loathe her.

"'You do not know what sins I have committed for you!' I simply retorted this from my spot on the bed. Blasted woman was being so one-sided.

"'Monsieur… Her and I… We went against our better judgment. She was desperate to save you, and I was desperate for her.' PAH! The Comte decided he would like to toss in his two pence. The first words spoken… And they were to protect her from my harshness.

"Of course, curiosity had been aroused. 'What then,' I did ask, 'Did you do to save me?' And, with her tear streamed face, Christine looked up. Her heart continued to break, doing nothing to mend mine, as Raoul tapped his foot three times; obviously a signal to call in others.

"I will admit, they had it wonderfully planned out, this little show that was put on. Through that door came my good friend Nadir.

"'Daroga!' A hoarse whisper described my voice, as the ebony skinned man bowed his head. Then… Well, you must under stand, a strong sense of delirium had my head, still half thinking this some twisted version of hell. Continuing with my story, I had to blink a few times… In came a golden haired woman. In my current state… She did look like a skeleton draped in a much-too-large cloak. Her hair was beauty while the body looked a recent corpse half decayed. So thin… So frail. She too was followed by another; some stout angry looking man.

"'Erik,' Christine began, 'These are the people who have helped you. Yes. Nadir, he told us of your plans-' 'Forgive me!' My small friend cut her off, remourse for the hurt that had been done. Christine seemed neither irritated nor upset that he did such things, merely continued, 'And Léa… She… Oh, Erik! Léa is a necromancer. She brought you back to us… We had rescued you. Oh, my sweet Erik, but we thought you were dead. You were dead! We didn't think… You really were. She… She brought you back. Her spells, her resurrecting. How it sent chills through my spine. But… But she did it! And… Oh, that horrid violin! She did it… AND HERE YOU ARE.'

"Needless to say, I was more than confused. They thought… They thought they had brought me back from the dead! Do not get me wrong, Monsieur. All this talk and I did not believe a word of it. I still don't, and neither should you. It is impossible to revive the dead. I merely figured they caught me on the brink. But she was so shaken, it does make me laugh.

"'This is fool-hardy!' I had shouted, now making to rise, but was brutally pushed down by the man unknown. Christine only moaned in agony. And, for the first time, I was seeing madness from the sane point of view. Well, the **sanest **point of view in the room.

"That woman Léa, the one who cast her deranged spells and black magic, had a joker's smile pasted on her thin wiry lips black in colour. Shaded from the hood, her gray eyes appeared truly dead. No delightful spark or enchanting gleam which possesses all who walk. No… There was nothing. She was an empty shell. I suppose that only makes sense… When you deal with such things as awakening the dead.

"'So, you think, now that I am a mindless zombie arisen from the dead, I shall be happy?' AND I LAUGHED. My voice booming so loud that everyone, even the man who held me down, shrunk back.

"'No,' Her voice a sob as she continued to cling to her betrothed. Now, this seemed even more insane, but I did let her continue, 'We have brought Father Paul here… Erik… You must understand… You will be so much happier! We have brought him here to… To perform an exorcism.'

"'Fiends!' I shouted in anger. 'Wench!' To think they brought me back and accuse me of being possessed! How… Humorous that is. 'Rat!' Then… Well, then thoughts began to creep into my mind. Fine… Let the man do what he wishes. I too could plot their futures.

"'Erik!' Crying out to me… Saying my name repetitively tends to lose its spark. 'We are doing this… We are doing this for you.' And my smug tone began to chat simply, 'You think I am possessed? You think you can cast out my 'inner demon'? My dear… Did you ever stop to think that some people are naturally evil? ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY ARE CURSED WITH DEATH'S FACE?' Christine cried out in agony and then the Father Paul threw water on me!"

At this, the boy broke out in laughter, a cold sweat dabbing his face. The man, of course, did not take so kindly to it. It was a small hysterical giggles, as the boy was obviously shaken, a handkerchief mopped his forehead. He had been on the edge of his seat, very much into the story, when the water part broke the camel's back.

"I should not like to see the part about your insane fit when you type this up." Merely grunting to the boy as he bowed his head into his chest, ashamed. Still, he beckoned the man to continue with his story.

"As I was saying, the man had splashed some 'Holy' water on me. I, must admit, I played along. Cringing when he did so, that smug smile in his marshmallow of a head.

"'That hurts, Father Paul!' A small tone I did use. Almost a whine… I have always been a good actor, did you know that? Of course you did. An actor, a composer, ventriloquist, of course, all those things mastered. I let him go on, playing as if my 'inner demon' were now cursing him by shouting some rather cruel things.

"'D-d-demons out!' Shouting finally, the cross held out to me. Then, I went completely stiff. Never moving. Never twitching. Never blinking. And every one was silent… Waiting to see the 'good' that had been done. This, my best act yet, not even my lips showed any signs of change, I tossed my voice.

"'I am over here… Inside the candle. Catch me if you can. O! Now I am the skeleton woman. Here I am, help me! Help me! Nadir… Please… I am in Christine! Help! She is possessed. O!' And Léa began to laugh madly while Christine let out the most horrific of screams. She knew all too well I could do this. She knew her plan had not worked. The new ones… Léa and Father Paul were not aware.

"'We saved him!' Shrieked the mad woman, and SHE DARED TO TOSS HER ARMS AROUND ME; hugging my 'sleeping' body. So pleased with what she thought had accomplished. Father Paul, on the other hand, turned paler each second. His breathing growing shallow, I could almost feel his little heart beating rapidly.

"The others knew different and, for that reason, they were terrified. Slowly realizing what they had truly done. What was intended for good turned out wicked. And I threw the covers off, conveniently still clothed in what I had anticipated for my funeral, startling the skeleton woman and the stout priest.

"Christine was shaking, Raoul was dulled beyond humanly possible, Nadir was fuming at himself, Léa was going through a book of spells she had produced from some where in her cloak, searching for what had gone astray, and the priest was on his knees praying to the Father above for mercy.

"I stood to exit, and every one was so startled they would not stop me. I had to leave with a bang… I had to say some thing to chill their bones or leave one dead. I stuck with mere words.

"'Do not fret!' My voice over powering, 'I will return. You will hear of me more… Whether you like it or not. Another mark will be left upon this world. Now that I am back, let the blood-shed,' A pause for breath before I smirked to all of them, 'Resume.' With a twirl of my cape, I left the room, left the house, left the blasted city of Paris.

"I thought all their witch craft… Oh, what do you people say now a day? Bull-shit. Yes. It was all bull-shit. I was not resurrected. I was not relieved from 'inner demons'. I was not possessed. I was Erik the Fantôme! Yet my domain was now gone. I had nothing left. I would do greater things, true. Fantôme of the Opera my eye! I will haunt the city… The country… The world… I will be big!"


End file.
